


Ported

by Ancalime1



Series: In Silico [1]
Category: Tron - All Media Types
Genre: Oneshot probably, Pre-Tron: Legacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7278358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ancalime1/pseuds/Ancalime1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alan and Flynn pay a visit to the Grid's newest arrival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ported

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not dead!  
> In light of recent, personal events, I've had to put fanfiction on the back-burner for a little longer than promised. In the meantime, here's a little something to tide you guys over.  
> This happens to be a bit of an older piece of mine, so you may find the content to be of... dubious quality. I have not read the Betrayal comics or played the Evolution game, so I'm not entirely sure if this piece is compatible with either of those installments.

Mr. Alan Bradley was not particularly fond of the Grid. 

This was to be expected, of course. His occupation as Encom’s number one pencil-pusher served as the basis of his comfort zone. Sure, he’d spent his teenage years engrossed in scads of sci-fi thrillers. Sure, he’d penned fistfuls of programs during his time spent at Encom, each with different functions and personalities of their own. But when that was all said and done, he belonged in front of the screen, not inside it. That was Flynn’s turf.

Of course, anything that involved Kevin Flynn seemed to consequently involve Alan’s hand too. Perhaps it was because they’d spent so damn long working on the same floor together, or because of that one time in which he, Flynn, and Lora had pulled an allnighter giving the Master Control Program a thorough beatdown. Since then, Alan had been under Flynn’s thumb for an uncomfortably long time—and that meant precious time spent rummaging around inside the Grid.

It was Flynn’s biggest project, his master composition. In his eyes, discovering the Grid also meant discovering reformation, order, perfections. “A new world to change our world,” he would say. Not that Alan particularly cared—the less he was involved in Flynn’s ‘playing God’ game, the better. Of course, he wouldn’t have even been in this mess if it hadn’t been for Tron.

When Flynn had first requested access to such software, Alan almost choked on his coffee. Why Flynn had any need for an obsolete program such as Tron was beyond him. He used the term ‘obsolete’ lightly, knowing that it had only been a year since the program was conceived. Regardless, Alan had already had his first taste of the Grid—and what he saw confirmed his suspicions that Tron was in no way capable of meeting its demands. But Flynn reassured him that with a few tweaks (by Alan’s permission, of course), he would bring the program up to snuff. Alan raised an eyebrow over it, but he wasn’t going to bother arguing. Hands were shaken, and Tron was transferred to the greener pastures of the Grid.

Alan, once again, was not very pleased with what he saw.

It was just this evening, in fact, when Flynn had invited him over to his office beneath the arcade to catch up on the Grid’s progress. The clock struck ten, and the clamor had finally died down with the closing of the arcade. Flynn was stooped over his desk, fingers running across the keyboard like spiders over water. Occupying the screen before him was an immense command-line interface, rapidly filling with lines of text. Alan had stationed himself in the doorway, in case any arcade stragglers had found themselves where they were not supposed to be. He glanced at his watch, glanced at Flynn, and then ventured, “How is the progress on the Tron-program coming along?”

The clattering of keys stopped, and Flynn threw his hands behind his head. “Funny you should ask that, Alan,” he said with a laugh. “That’s actually why I brought you here.”

“Then it’s done, I take it?”

“Yahtzee. And now I get to play show and tell.” The clattering resumed, and yet another line joined the immense wall of text:

**# bin/LLLSDLaserControl -ok 1**

“Fantastic,” muttered Alan. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strode over to Flynn’s left, eyeing the small dialogue box that had appeared on the screen.

**APERTURE CLEAR?**

** <Yes>  <No>**

Alan held his breath as Flynn’s hand hovered just above the keyboard. It was in this moment when a mutual rush of adrenaline washed over them both, like the feeling one gets in the gripping seconds before liftoff. And then, with a deep breath, he confirmed the prompt. “All set. Buckle up, buttercup.”

“Flynn, what—”

Alan was cut short as the digitizing beam shot out of its resting place and into his being. Time seemed to stand still as the laser did its work, rapidly translating organic matter into code. Heartbeats later, and he and Flynn were standing in a virtualized rendition of the office beneath the arcade.

A wad of nerves seemed to lodge itself inside his throat. He’d visited the Grid multiple times, was a regular customer. But every time he’d lay eyes on the interior of the dataspace—every time his sight passed over the Grid’s circuit-laced and glossy black aesthetic—he couldn’t suppress a shiver of what was either awe or fear. For some inexplicable reason, the Grid still amazed and terrified him.

Flynn, of course, was blissfully unaware of his friend’s unease. Flashing Alan a gaudy smile, he said. “All right, follow me. I want you to see our man of the hour.”

Alan immediately forgot his discomfort and rolled his eyes. Trudging after Flynn, the two exited the digitized shell of the office, and trudged down a bleak path that skirted what looked to be the beginnings of a city. Alan let his gaze wander to the half-configured buildings that he could have sworn weren’t there last time. They flickered and glowed a dull blue, signifying that construction was still in progress. Yet in spite of their incompleteness, he was immensely impressed—and to his dismay, Flynn noticed.

“Like what you see, eh?”

“I’ll give credit where credit is due.”

“Fair enough.” He grinned deviously at Alan and then said, “You know, man, this’d be a lot faster if you’d just suck your gut in and take a light bike.”

“Very funny. Remind me to remove your permissions to Tron when I get out of here.”

“Youch. Alan, one; Flynn, zero.”

Alan’s mouth became a thin line. No, he had personally never ridden a lightcycle. But he had once tried his hand at motorcycling, an event which, suffice it to say, found him in the ER approximately ten minutes later. His stomach churned at the very thought—no way was he making that mistake again.

A series of looming edifices dotted the landscape before them, constructions that vaguely reminded him of the concrete parking structures of Los Angeles. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and trailed after Flynn, until they had arrived at a large, warehouse-like structure that pulsed with white circuitry. The first thing they were greeted with was a thumbprint scanner; something in which only Flynn had access to, given the fact that humanoid programs had no fingerprints of their own. He pressed his thumb against the scanner, waited for it to process, then pushed his way through the entrance.

“So this is your new testing grounds, then?” inquired Alan.

“It’s where I keep the Master Disc,” said Flynn, guiding him through a series of circuit-laced corridors. “What with all these new programs up-and-running, I’ve had to put in a few security measures. Nothing big.”

“Security measures?” queried Alan. “You’re the system administrator. Can’t you just make the disc exclusively accessible to you?”

“I did. This—” he said, gesturing to the scanner, “is my fallback.”

Alan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit paranoid, Flynn?”

At this, Flynn halted in his tracks, prompting Alan to catch himself from colliding into him. “The Master Disc is a bit more valuable than you’d think, man,” said Flynn, eyeing his friend carefully. “As far as I know, it’s the only way of getting out of here. I configured it to return to this very spot every time I exit the Grid, which means that it’s ripe for the taking whenever I’m not around.” He let out a brief sigh and added, “I’m willing to act a little paranoid to prevent my disc from falling into the wrong hands.”

Alan shrugged indifferently. “Your playground, your rules.”

“Glad you understand.” Flynn activated yet another thumbprint scan, triggering a sliding door that opened to a small room before them. “Okay, boss. Here you go.”

He beckoned Alan forward. After staring at it for approximately ten seconds he said, “I don’t understand. I thought you were going to show me the progress on Tron?”

Flynn tapped the wall nearest the doorway, and the floor panels immediately lit up in a harsh hue of white. After trudging through the utter blackness of the Grid, the sudden illumination had caught Alan off guard and caused his eyes to water in protest. But as soon as his vision had returned, a lump of dread formed in his throat.

Propped against the wall was a dark, unmoving mass—unmoving, but undoubtedly alive. He was curled in the fetal position, head tucked inwards and arms twined round his knees. He was clad in black armor, armor that Alan was certain should have been alight with circuitry. But what he saw instead were gashes of worn code that pulsed a dull and sickly blue. He approached the unconscious man, bent down to inspect his face, and leapt backwards in shock. Flynn had once explained to him that certain programs bore strong resemblances to their users. Nevertheless, what he saw haunted him. Minus the armor-getup, he could have very well been looking at himself.

“Good God, Flynn,” he said hollowly. “What’s wrong with him?”

A thoughtful frown crossed Flynn’s face. “Rewrites, upgrades… I needed to modify him a bit so that he could function properly inside this system. Thing is, this whole process works like how surgery works for us. Only I don’t know anybody who’s had quite as many surgeries as this guy has had modifications.”

“Seriously, Flynn,” urged Alan. “Forget about Tron. He’s not cut out for the Grid, plain and simple. Just write a different security program, one that’ll fit the mould for this system, and—”

“You weren’t there,” said Flynn suddenly. “You wouldn’t get it.”

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

“A year ago, at Encom. Think about it.”

“What’re you talking about? Of course I—”

“I meant inside,” snapped Flynn. “You weren’t there, so you didn’t see. Sure, you were the one who wrote Tron. Thing is, you see this guy as nothing more than just a handy bit of software to fend off all those trojans and worms and whatnot. But he’s so much more than that, man.” Flynn paused for a moment, eyes alight with nostalgia. “When I met him, he was a hero. Not only did he bail my ass out on multiple accounts, he also trashed Dillinger’s plans and put the MCP in its place. No, Alan, it wasn’t you or me or Lora that brought Encom back—It was Tron.”

Alan, despite his friend’s sudden outburst, remained unfazed. “So in short, you really have no reason to bring Tron here, and you’re just acting on pure sentimentality?”

Flynn pressed a hand to his forehead and offered Alan a wan smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s what it is. Sentimentality.”

Alan wetted his lips and looked Tron up and down once more. “He sure looks like he’s in a lot of pain,” he said quietly.

“He’ll come around,” said Flynn. “Just needs to recharge. You’ll see.” He paused for a few seconds, then murmured, “You know, it never ceases to amaze me how… how incredibly human he is. Not just by how he looks, but how he acts. How he feels. I dunno, it’s strange.”

Alan didn’t respond right away. Instead, his eyes were fixated on the pulsing wounds of his digital doppelganger. It chilled him to the bone, and what Flynn just said had done nothing to mend the situation. He studied the program for seconds more before saying, “Maybe you should reconsider these transferrals. Of the programs, I mean—I know that you probably intended to move a few more over to the Grid.”

“Only the essentials,” said Flynn quickly. “This place needs looking after, and I can’t spend all my time in here.”

“Flynn, look. I know, okay? By all means, go ahead and finish Tron’s modifications. But after that, no more porting over programs. Because if they are as human as you say, then it’s your job to treat them as such.”

Flynn opened his mouth to protest, then promptly closed it when he saw Tron stir. It was a small movement and not one that promised imminent consciousness, but a movement nonetheless. He pressed a hand to his brow and sighed in resignation. “Damn. I really should have thought this through,” he said quietly. “Okay, you win. No more ported programs—scout’s honor.”

“Good,” said Alan. “I assume we’re done here, then?”

“Yeah. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

There was no hesitation in Alan’s step as he made his way out of the dim alcove. It was Tuesday evening, and good _God_ he wanted to go home. Flynn, on the other hand, lagged a little behind. He studied Tron once more, noted the flickering blue gashes that ran up and down the program’s weakened form, and then followed Alan out the exit.

He wondered just how soon he would break his promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think!


End file.
